


Maysturbation 2020

by ChillieBean



Series: What Comes Next [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Boredom, Dildos, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Public Masturbation, Sex Toys, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, background gencio, past referenced McAshe, pre-relationship mchanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: A collection of ficlets celebrating one thing: masturbation!welcome to maysturbation 2020!
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Jesse McCree, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Series: What Comes Next [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924903
Comments: 21
Kudos: 131





	1. The Exhibitionist and the Voyeur

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! 
> 
> I've been feverently working on this for the last couple of months when i discovered that Maysturbation is absolutely a thing. There'll be six stories all up, some with pure solo play, others with another person present. Tags will be updated with each story, I will also warn for kinks before each chapter just in case something isn't your thing.
> 
> If there's anything you want to be tagged that isn't please don't hesitate to request it be added. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-relationship McHanzo featuring exhibitionism/voyeurism, mentions of a piss kink with **no** piss play.

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

Jesse hears it, whatever the sound is, as he hovers in that sweet spot between consciousness and unconsciousness. The sound was distant, it might've been the remnants of the dream he was just having. 

After a moment of silence, he settles back down with a sigh. It must've been his imagination. Just as he is about to drift back into sleep, he hears it again.

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

Just like before, it leaves as quick as it comes. He definitely wasn't dreaming, and it absolutely came from outside. Either way, it's none of his concern. He closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, but as he hears it for the third time, he knows the damage is done. 

Rolling onto his back, Jesse opens his eyes, staring at the dark ceiling. He's such a light sleeper, easily awakened by the slightest of noises; it's both a blessing and a curse. It's gotten him out of many bad situations, it's saved his life more times than he can count. But days where he has the opportunity to sleep in, it kicks his ass. 

When he's on base, he's fine. On his days off, he drinks himself to sleep and will stay knocked out for half of the next day at least. Missions, though, when he doesn't have that luxury, he truly suffers. The combination of a new bed, no drinking, and unfamiliar surrounds mean the most he gets is two hours of on-and-off sleep. 

_Pat. Pat. Pat._

With a sigh, he looks at the curtains covering his window, then to the light that filters out the top of them. The noise is coming from outside and not from a neighbouring room. It’s repetitive, and if he were to guess, someone was going for a morning run. 

"Good for you," Jesse mutters, groaning as he sits up slowly. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, it flashes with the time; 6:43 a.m. That is _too_ early to be up and about, especially considering the team isn’t meeting until 10:00 a.m. 

But, he knows he won’t be able to get to sleep no matter how hard he wishes for it. Pulling the covers off himself, he stands, stretches with a groan, tilts his head from left to right until he hears that satisfying _crack_. 

His first stop is the bathroom, straight to the toilet to piss. He washes his hands, wets his face, glances at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the dark circles under his eyes. 

He heads back into the room, grabbing the sweatpants he tossed at the chair in the corner the night before and pulls them on. His serape is next, he drapes it over his bare shoulders, then digs through his bag for a fresh cigar and his flask. Since he’s up this early, he might as well indulge and take in this gorgeous scenery.

This mission has taken them to Finland, to a quaint little hotel on the back of Koli National Park. They’re investigating Marco Lampinen, owner of this hotel who has suspected ties to Talon. Under the guise of backpacking friends, a team of him, Hanzo, and Brigitte are guests staying at the hotel for a few days.

Stepping out onto the balcony, he breathes in deep. The morning air has a chill to it despite it being the middle of summer. It rained overnight, which made for wonderful ambience to get to sleep despite the almost blinding light when it should've been dark, but the humidity in the air is higher than he is comfortable with. 

He shifts the chair as close as he can to the railing and drops into it, admiring the view. It’s foggy, he can’t see beyond a few feet on either side of the building, but he can see the fringes of the forest, as the trees start to disappear in the mist. 

It was gorgeous yesterday as the old pines met the horizon, but it's breathtaking now. He had his reservations about this mission, it was the second of two that were back to back which predictably has thrown his sleep schedule out the window. But waking up right on the forest’s edge in a hotel he ordinarily wouldn’t stay at definitely has its perks. 

In the distance, he can hear that _pat pat pat_ from earlier, and coming up out of the fog, he sees Hanzo jogging. His eyes are forward, his shirt sticks to him with sweat, his breaths are heavy; he’s been running for a little while now. 

Jesse watches him jog past, lighting his cigar when Hanzo's out of view. He relaxes back into the chair as his mouth fills with smoke, and he looks out to the forest. Birds sing, Hanzo passes again, Jesse reads the morning’s news on his phone, he takes a couple of nips from his flask. 

On Hanzo’s next pass, though, he’s walking. He takes deep, heaving breaths, his hands rest on his hips. At no point does he look up at Jesse, not as he passes his room, not as he doubles back, not as cups himself and very _obviously_ palms himself through his shorts. 

Jesse's whole body lurches as Hanzo grabs himself. He has to pull the damn cigar from his lips before it falls at the sight of Hanzo's shorts hugging his cock so tight he can _clearly_ make out the flared shape of the head.

He watches on, stunned, frozen in place as Hanzo approaches a tree, standing in front of it like he's about to take a piss. Jesse knows he should look away, Hanzo is standing side on and he would see _everything_ but he cannot tear his eyes away, not with the way Hanzo is playing with himself at the very least.

Hanzo lets go of himself, Jesse sucks in a breath at the sight of his dick tenting the shorts. God _damn_ , the shorts are tiny enough as they are, they show off his gorgeous as fuck thighs, but another mere centimetre he'd be poking out the end of them. 

God _fuck_ , what he wouldn't give for Hanzo to reveal himself. Hanzo obviously has an exhibitionism streak in him, he might not know he has an audience but no one who _isn't_ comfortable would even do this.

Hanzo stares at the tree, then turns away from it. Jesse tears his eyes away, pretending to look at his phone in a vain attempt to make it look like he wasn't just leering like the dirty voyeur he truly is.

As much as he tries to fight it, he can't help but keep Hanzo in his peripheral vision. 

Then, he hears the sound of piss hitting the ground.

Jesse glances over the balcony railing and is hit with a gut punch. Hanzo isn't only pissing, he's doing it hands-free. His shorts are pulled up, his half-hard cock pokes out of the bottom. 

He’s not even _facing_ the tree. He is off the path at least, he's pissing in the dirt, but God damn it's hot as fuck.

It's almost like Hanzo has seen a glimpse of his dirty mind. Jesse is as voyeuristic as they come—it came with the job, so many missions took him undercover at the most sordid of clubs, sent him from Maspalomas to Bangkok and everywhere in between. He’s seen it all, he’s _experienced_ it all—orgies, BDSM, glory holes, darkrooms. It was almost like a drug; if there was a mission that took him to any kind of kinky club he’d put his name down for it because almost always it meant he got to sleep his way through it. 

Piss is a kink that's on the tamer side of his list but so few people are into it. It's been so long since he's hooked up with someone who wasn't a one night stand that these days he gets his fix from either seeking out clubs that offer it or soloing it with porn.

And as he watches Hanzo, Jesse would bet his entire life savings that Hanzo was into piss play. _Those_ are the actions of someone who gets off on it. He _knew_ Hanzo was a kinky fuck; the guy was ex-Yakuza with countless murders under his belt, he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. Someone like _that_ isn't a prude. 

From the first moment he laid eyes on Hanzo in a professional setting, Jesse has tried to figure out what his deepest, darkest, _dirtiest,_ secrets were. Hanzo puts on an air of respect and friendliness, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and comes across as quite reserved.

In Jesse's experience, they're the ones who are the filthiest in the bedroom.

Yeah, sure, pissing in public isn’t a new concept. _This_ , though; pissing with a semi, doing it hands-free without actually whipping it out, it’s so fucking _hot_. And that stream, strong and powerful, Jesse would give _anything_ to be on the receiving end of that, to feel it hit his chest, run down his body, his dick. 

Jesse quivers at the mere thought, and he wraps his hand around his straining cock. This is something he’ll _need_ to explore with Hanzo. 

Holy _fuck_ , Hanzo’s stream is fucking _endless_. So much so, Hanzo starts _walking_ , one cautious step at a time towards another tree. His dick bounces, yet he’s careful not to piss on himself. The control, the _brazenness_ is proof enough that this isn’t a one-off for Hanzo. He probably pisses like this all the time. 

He probably pisses like this every time he goes for a run. 

Fuck. Jesse could watch him piss all day. It’s so fucking mesmerising. 

_Finally_ , the stream stops, and Hanzo makes his way to another tree, pressing his back against the trunk. Much to Jesse's dismay, he pulls down his shorts, covering his cock. He's not tenting them like before, but there is still a noticeable bulge that Jesse can't take his eyes off.

Hanzo takes a deep breath, his chest rises and falls. His eyes are closed, Jesse begins to assume that this is some sort of cool-down exercise, but then, he slides his hand into his shorts and pulls out his cock. He tugs slowly, _ever_ so slowly, and he _grows_ with each pass.

Jesse's dick utterly _jumps_ , begging for attention. He can’t help himself then, resting his cigar on the tray and pushing down on his sweats, tucking the band under his balls. Wrapping his hand around his cock tightly, he mirrors Hanzo’s speed. It doesn’t matter if Hanzo thought he was doing this under the guise of privacy, one doesn't piss like that _and_ jerk off in a public place _without_ thinking someone is watching. 

That’s the thrill of it all.

Hanzo tugs a little faster and he moans. It’s a quiet little thing, just loud enough for Jesse to hear. Jesse’s cock twitches in response to it, he picks up his speed a little more. 

Jesse wonders what Hanzo is thinking. Hanzo would have to know that he was up here, sitting on the balcony enjoying a smoke; Hanzo is the most eagle-eyed person Jesse’s ever met. Sure, the room underneath his is the storage room and it has no windows, and no one else’s rooms are on the back end of this hotel. Perhaps Hanzo gambled that he would be asleep, that he could get away with this on this side of the hotel. But a glance up to the balcony—which he hasn’t seen Hanzo do—would prove he isn’t alone.

Could this be Hanzo making a move? Hanzo hasn't shown any interest in pursuing _anyone_ romantically. He has two modes—pissed the fuck off or gentle and patient. He’s kept every relationship with the team professional, everyone is at arm's length. Jesse likes it there, he’s been on Hanzo's warpath more than once, stared him down as Hanzo literally bared his fangs and refused to stand down because, in _every_ instance, Hanzo had been in the wrong. 

He’s never thought about Hanzo in any romantic or sexual way. Sure, Hanzo's a good looking guy, but Jesse’s had no attraction to him, never wanted to explore anything of a romantic or sexual nature. It’s a little hard to want to see him in that light when Genji is living proof of what those hands have done. 

Now, though. He’d let Hanzo piss on him. Hell, he’d _drink_ Hanzo’s piss if he asked. He’d piss all over Hanzo if he's into that. Fuck, to even be kneeling down in front of him right now, licking and sucking that gorgeous cock, to taste him on his tongue—

Jesse has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. 

_Why_ is he being so placid about this? How is it fair that he’s here, half cowering behind the railing of the balcony as he _hides_ from Hanzo? He’s not _afraid_ of being seen—there isn’t a cowardly bone in his body. 

No. _If_ this is intentional, then _he_ should give Hanzo a show. And if it’s not, then _this_ is making his intentions known. Jesse stands and faces Hanzo front on as he tugs a little faster. 

Hanzo doesn’t notice, his eyes slide closed as more hushed moans fall from his lips. His tugging slows, his hips jerk off the tree, then he picks up a little again. Another moan, this one louder, and he looks down as he _let’s go_ of himself. His cock _bounces_ , desperate for tightness that was once there. He bites his lip and juts his hips forward as he comes, shooting across the damn forest. 

“Fuck,” Jesse groans, tightening his grip. Hunching forward, he grips the railing tight as it takes just two more hard, rough tugs to come. He groans, dripping onto the railing and on the tiled floor below. 

Jesse keeps his eyes on Hanzo as he milks the final drops of come from his spent cock. Hanzo stays leaning against the tree as he softens, catching his breath before tucking himself back into his shorts. 

As Hanzo steps onto the path, he locks eyes with him. Jesse’s caught with his hand literally around his dick, and this is the moment that will determine their next move. 

Hanzo isn’t _shocked_ by his presence. He _smirks_. And before he sets off in another jog, he winks, leaving Jesse behind. 

Jesse can’t help but smirk himself—this _was_ intentional. Hanzo knows that he’s a light sleeper, Jesse was bitching about it on the flight over here. Jesse requested this room at the very back of the hotel because he is a smoker and it’s the only one with a balcony—Hanzo _knew_ that this was his room. 

This was intentional. 

He replays Hanzo’s final moments in his mind, the smirk and the wink. It was a challenge, a power move, a _statement_. 

_Your move_. 

Jesse can’t help but chuckle. He might not have considered pursuing Hanzo sexually before, but now, if _this_ is some of the stuff he likes to get up to, he’ll _eagerly_ see where this takes him. 


	2. Missing What She Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of past relationship McAshe, showerhead as a sex toy

She dreamed about him last night.

It’s a persistent, _annoying_ recurring dream. It starts with his smile, big and gorgeous and _wicked_. He places a hand on her thigh, his touch is gentle as he draws little circles with his fingertips. It leaves her paralysed, frozen in place, as he leans forward, whispering in her ear.

_Let’s get out of here._

She shudders. She hears the words, feels the caress of his breath against her ear as if he were here now. 

He leads her away, back to the limo waiting for them. They kiss as they drive off, a slow, gentle thing, but soon enough lust takes over and his hand settles between her thighs, rubbing against her. He takes care of her and she is utterly infatuated with him—first coming on his fingers, then on his tongue, and finally with him inside her before he finishes himself. 

The dream is a little different each time: sometimes he leads her to his bedroom, other times they’re so desperate they fuck in the dirty, poorly lit bathroom of a nightclub. He’s been known to take her to office in the clubhouse. One time they fucked on the pool table in the bar.

Despite the dreams varying in some little way, they all end the same, with her in his arms, sharing one last kiss. She _always_ wakes up after, soaking wet and sensitive and unable to shake the thoughts for the entire day. 

Jesse has been out of her life for six years and she _still_ dreams about him. She hates that her subconscious is a bitch by making her remember him in this way. She hates that it makes her miss him. She hates that it leaves her so distracted and on edge, she has to lock herself away and away from _everybody_ out of legitimate concern of putting a bullet in them.

Ashe decided to stay home today; she told everyone she wasn’t feeling well. She’s spent the day pampering herself—watching trashy movies, taking a sizable chunk out of her chocolate stash, ordering a curry for dinner. 

She did _everything_ in her power to keep from thinking about _him_. 

Her day of self-care has taken her well into the evening, and she sinks lower into the bath, the water envelops her like a heated blanket. The bathwater is as black as the night—her black rose bath bomb is her go-to when she’s feeling down. She even went all out tonight with some vibrant red rose petals floating on the water, there are no less than twenty candles scattered around the bathroom, and she’s just poured the last of her bottle of wine. 

She stares out the window beside the bath, eyeing the full moon hanging low in the sky. It faintly illuminates what constitutes her backyard—nothing but various cacti which are currently in full bloom. Bats fly overhead, no doubt hopping from flower to flower, chasing insects for breakfast.

Jesse always loved watching the bats late at night. He’d sit on the porch with a cigar and a glass of bourbon and spend hours out there. Oftentimes she’d join him, and depending on how frisky she was feeling, she’d blow him right there and then, her favourite thing about it was the feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp as she took him deeper—

 _Fuck_. 

As much as she does these things to keep herself distracted, Jesse _always_ wins. It doesn’t matter how much she tries to focus on the way her wine swirls in her glass, or the smell of rose, or the soft flicker of candlelight on the dark ceiling, her thoughts always drift back to him, to the feeling of his hands on her skin, of his fingertips slowly dragging up her thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

Every thought of him or the dream leaves her tingling and wet. She hates it, so fucking much— _he_ betrayed the club, he betrayed _her—_ and she _despises_ that the only thing that pushes him out of her mind is to masturbate _while_ thinking about him. 

She loathes it with every fibre of her being, but with a bitter sigh, she reaches for the detachable showerhead and turns on the tap. 

Pulling it underwater, she closes her eyes and relaxes. She rests the showerhead against her thigh, the water tingles her skin, not unlike Jesse's fingertips. Slowly, ever so slowly, she drags it upwards, spreading her legs apart in anticipation. 

She moans when the water caresses her clit. As much as she wants to go hard, she takes a breath, letting a calm wash over her as she imagines Jesse is between her legs right now. He would go slow, tease orgasm after orgasm out of her until she was nothing more than a sobbing, quivering mess.

Since her bathwater is hot, since she's got no other plans for this evening, and she fucking _deserves_ to become a sobbing, quivering mess, she shifts the stream back to her thigh to cool off. She throws her mind back to her dream, where they don’t even make it back home before getting it on. 

Sitting in the back of the limo, the privacy screen separates them and the driver. Jesse is settled between her legs, he lifts up her dress with a fine feather touch, all the way up to her hips, then pulls down her underwear. 

If she focuses hard enough, she can feel his breath caress her inner thigh, his stubbly cheek grazing against sensitive flesh as he moves in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the stripe of pubic hair. 

Sucking in a breath, she moves the showerhead between her legs again. She moans as she focuses on her clit, as she imagines Jesse licking against her softly. In her mind, she’s got one leg up, her foot rests against the window, the other is hooked over his shoulder. Her fingers tangle in his hair, and he looks up at her with those gorgeous chestnut brown eyes as he absolutely lavishes her clit.

A jolt of pleasure strikes through her, her back arches and she slips, dipping up to her nose into the water. She recovers quick enough but it ruins the immersion, so she sits on the edge of the bath without thought. It’s not comfortable in the slightest, goosebumps roll down her skin chasing the rivulets of water, but she will _make_ it work, as she holds the showerhead between her legs again. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, angling the stream right where she’s most sensitive. Pleasure crackles through her like lightning, her hips jerk, her legs close shut but she forces them back open. It’s bordering on too much, every fibre of her being is _yelling_ at her to pull the stream away but that’s where she likes it. She grips onto the bath tightly as she comes, head tilted back and _screaming_ in pleasure. 

Coming down from the high, she pulls the showerhead away and slips back into the bath, relishing in the feeling of the hot water against her cold skin. She doesn’t turn the showerhead off, though, not yet—she’s not fucking done.

Taking a deep breath, her thoughts shift to them in bed. She’s sprawled out on top of the sheets, legs kicked over his shoulders. He’s lying on his stomach, his hands are hooked around her thighs. This was always her favourite position, with pillows stacked up behind her so she could see him. She _loved_ watching him buck against the bed when he got desperate.

He got so desperate because like this, he was rough. 

She cannot help but grin as she changes the setting on the showerhead from normal to massage. She doesn’t bother getting out of the bath, not this time, as she pivots, sitting with her back against the shorter side of the tub, spreading her legs and kicking her feet out of the water, laying them flat against the on the opposite side to stop from slipping. 

Keeping the stream in the water, she rubs her clit with her fingertips. She’s gentle to start; slow, cautious sweeps to build herself up. Soon enough she’s rougher—squeezing her clit between her fingers, scraping her fingernails against the hardened bud. Rough was good, and Jesse hit that perfect spot—he never questioned her when she wanted the graze of his teeth.

Biting her lip, she positions the showerhead and _shouts_ in pleasure as the hard stream impacts her clit. This orgasm builds faster, she almost pulls it away to drag this moment out but it feels too fucking good. She utterly loses herself, moaning Jesse’s name over and over like a prayer, keeping the stream on her through her orgasm. He always kept going, not stopping until she jerked his head back. 

This time, she doesn’t. Well into oversensitive territory, she keeps going, riding her way through another orgasm as tears sting her eyes. Her hips buck uncontrollably, she has to hook her free arm around the tub to keep above water. She tries for another—she _wants_ another, to feel those tears spill down her cheeks, but it doesn’t have the same feel anymore.

It’s fine, she’s so doped up on endorphins she doesn’t fucking care. She pulls the showerhead away and turns off the tap, shifting back to stretch her legs out and relax again. 

Taking a breath, she rests her head against the lip of the tub. For a brief moment she’s happy and content, she imagines kissing Jesse, slow and passionate, all but tasting herself on his lips. 

But too soon, the chasm of shame opens up and she’s swallowed whole. 

She hates that the only time she truly comes is when she thinks about what she and Jesse had. 

She hates that she feels guilty after and that it ruins the whole ordeal. 

She hates that it doesn’t matter _who_ she is fucking to get Jesse out of her mind, her thoughts always drift back to him. 

She’s stuck, forever tortured to masturbate while thinking about him, and the guilt of it all eats her up more and more each time. 

With a sigh, she swallows down that ball of sadness, shoving it in the box in her mind labelled Jesse where all these shitty feelings go. She focuses on the things in front of her—the smell of rose, the flickering candlelight on the ceiling, picking her glass up from the windowsill and downing the rest of it. 

Taking a breath, she does a couple of math problems in her head. She thinks about the upcoming heist, the plan, the buyers, what she intends to buy with the sale of the hardware. 

Minutes pass, and there isn’t a _hint_ of the interloper.

Good. Now, at the very least, her brain isn’t occupied with the man who abandoned her. 


	3. Wishing What He Had

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background Gencio, pre-Genciotiste.

Baptiste shudders in pure, tantalising relief.

One hand is braced against the wall, the other is warm and tight and _wet_ ; he thrusts into it at a slow pace. 

It had been a stressful day, and this stress-relief is sorely needed. Alpha team came back from a mission—an emergency evac—and he was the medic on duty. Dr. Ziegler was on that shuttle, she was injured, nothing more than a graze on her arm, but she refused treatment until everyone else was looked after. From the details he managed to gather between mending broken bones and providing analgesics, they got ambushed. They were anticipating it, but it hit harder than they had planned. A quick retreat later and they arrived, injured, hungry, irritable, but all safe.

Baptiste was asked to go on this mission but he declined. He has been on self-isolation and confined to the base since joining Overwatch all those months ago—the last thing he wants is to put everyone on base in danger by going out on missions and having someone from Talon spotting him. While the team have all said it’s worth the risk, he doesn’t want to be responsible for more death. But with every mission declined, as time begins to stretch and cabin fever sets in, he is starting to have second thoughts. 

And now, with chatter and intelligence suggesting that Talon suspects he has joined Overwatch, he is at the point of marching up to Winston, throwing in the towel, and seeing more of this world that isn’t confined to the base’s walls or the town a ten minutes’ drive away. 

Even though he is starting to climb these walls, being on base _does_ have its perks. It’s serene, the gym more than covers his workout routine, Athena has over a century’s worth of entertainment in her database. 

And then there’s Genji and Lúcio.

They haven’t officially announced that they’re a couple—it’s possible they’re _not_ , but they’re doing a poor job of keeping their relationship a secret. Baptiste was alone on base with them a couple of months ago. A fact they either forgot or didn’t care about, because as Baptiste was making his way from the gym to his room, he heard them.

_Ah, fuck, you’re so fucking good._

Baptiste moans, he bites on his fist to keep from making _more_ noise. Even now, after all this time, with the roar of the water from the shower, he can hear those words, clear as day. Looking back at it now, he knows the right thing to do would’ve been to turn back, maybe have his shower in the gym and give them the privacy they thought they had. 

But he froze. And he listened.

_You’re gorgeous on your knees, lips stretched thin around my dick. Let me finish in your mouth, I want to taste myself on your tongue._

Lúcio is a ray of sunshine, the kindest person Baptiste has ever met. He’s always got a smile on his lips, he's an ear and a shoulder to lean on—he _always_ makes sure everyone is happy and well before checking in with himself. He is the most selfless person Baptiste has ever met.

And in _no way_ would Baptiste have _ever_ thought he would _hear_ Lúcio say _those_ words. 

Lúcio doesn’t even _swear_ in front of anyone. He is innocent and pure and suddenly, that illusion was violently shattered.

In that moment, standing in the hallway and listening to them, Baptiste couldn’t _resist_ not listening to more of Lúcio’s dirty tongue. A part of him wished he was there in that room with them—as his cock begged for that kind of attention, images of Genji on his knees in front of him, swallowing him down filled his mind. Hell, the both of them—he’d gladly let them share his dick.

Baptiste wouldn’t call it his proudest moment, but he leaned against the wall and shove his hand down his shorts. He jerked off listening to them, as Lúcio gave more commands, as Genji asked Lúcio to fuck his face. Baptiste half-contemplated finishing in his shorts, but the mess wasn’t worth it. He waited until they were finished, when Lúcio was a moaning mess, when he could hear their slow, sloppy kissing that came after, before retreating to the gym showers and finishing there. 

It has been two months since that day and he _still_ replays that moment in his mind. Every day, every time he thinks about them, every time he _imagines_ them he gets hard, and he wants them more and more. 

But that wasn’t the _only_ time he caught them. Baptiste’s thoughts shift to the time in the gym three weeks ago. It was ridiculously early in the morning, he had a nightmare and couldn’t go back to sleep, so he went to the gym to shed that anxious energy. 

He _saw_ them.

Lúcio was bent over the leg press machine, Genji was behind him, one hand on his hip, the other wrapped tightly around his dreadlocks and pulling him back so hard Baptiste didn’t know if Lúcio’s strained moans were from the sex or the pain. 

Baptiste didn’t stick around that time—not with a base full of people who could've caught him leering. He took that image, went straight back to his room and rubbed one out. Then another.

He can’t _look_ at the leg press machine without getting a semi, and the one time he _used_ it, he had to leave because he got hard and no amount of thinking about horrid things could make it go away.

Fuck, what Baptiste wouldn’t give to be sandwiched between them—to have Genji fucking him as he fucks Lúcio. Or, in that moment, fucking Genji, or even standing in front of Lúcio as he sucks his dick while being utterly railed. 

Baptiste tightens his grip, picking up his pace. Hot water cascades down his back, his moans are quiet, drowned out by the sound of rushing water. 

He saw them again today. They weren’t doing anything, he didn’t catch them in the act, but he did notice that Lúcio’s lips were a little swollen and that Genji had a blissed-out smile on his lips. If Baptiste were to guess, he _just_ missed them, and the more he tried to _not_ think about _where_ they did it, or wondering what Genji looks like when he comes, the harder he got. 

Baptiste is so desperate for them, for physical contact, that he didn’t stop his workout. He couldn’t have cared less if they saw his dick straining against his shorts. If anything, he _wanted_ them to see, he _wanted_ them to stalk over, to kiss him, to wrap their hands around his cock, to finish him as he worked out. 

He _wants_ it, so achingly bad he had to talk himself down from approaching them there and then, admitting he has caught them several times now and wants in on the action.

He did catch them glancing at him every now and then, and _fuck_ he tried to draw their attention to his groin. He doesn’t know if they noticed him or not, but he imagines that they did, that right now they’re discussing the possibility of a threesome, that they both decide to join him in _his_ shower, instead of the one they're sharing two cubicles away. 

He wants their lips on his skin, to feel their kisses and sucks, the tightness of their throats, to chase his taste on their tongues as they share in post-coital bliss—

Baptiste bites down harder on his fist to keep from moaning as the wave of pure pleasure washes over him. As he floats down from his high, he imagines kissing them, slow and sloppy and blissed out. 

As the image slips from his mind and the present settles in its place, he opens his eyes with a sigh. He settles on his come, dripping down the wet wall of the shower, and he steps back, angling the showerhead to wash it away.

It’s probably wishful thinking, a horny product of being cooped up in this base for so long. The odds of them wanting another addition to their bed is probably so slim he’d be setting himself up for failure were he to ask. 

Maybe it’s about time he heads into town and finds someone to fuck so he can regain some semblance of control around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet has art! [Check it out](https://twitter.com/bloomingnsfw/status/1273401908670033921) and give blooming your love!


	4. The Cure for Boredom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brigitte finds one way to cure those boredom blues...

Brigitte _hates_ surveillance duty. 

There is _nothing_ worse than sitting in front of a window overlooking a building she’s been ordered to stake out, while monitoring live camera feeds mounted over every doorway she can’t see from her position. She can’t _do_ anything lest she misses something, she can’t distract herself with another task, whether it be tinkering with her shield or working out or catching up on a holovid. No, she has to sit here, watch the world go by and _pray_ that the target shows so she can finally _do_ something that doesn’t involve her sitting on her ass for hours at a time. 

She shouldn’t complain—she’s here with Lena who agreed to do night surveillance. Due to timezone differences, their daytime schedule coincides with Emily’s nighttime, so they have a bit of overlap to converse once Lena is off her shift. 

Brigitte knows she’s got the better deal—at least she can count cars, watch the birds fly by, see actual sunlight. The trade-off is, being in a hyper-focused state for so long, the minute her shift is over, she collapses on the bed like a sack of bricks. She’s dead to the world for most of those twelve hours, then she’s up and at it for another twelve.

She’s been at this for the last five days and _nothing_ has happened. She’s ready to start counting every individual strand of hair on her head she’s that bored. 

It’s honestly the only thing stopping her from shoving her hand down her pants and playing with herself because _that_ is her usual cure for boredom. 

God, it has been _so long_ since she rubbed one out. A week? Maybe more? She can barely remember. This dry spell is so uncharacteristic of her, and although it’s not a scheduled event, she finds the time to take care of herself at least three times a week. 

But this mission has brought that to a grinding halt. She’s too tired to have a little solo fun off duty, and she’s terrified of getting caught while on duty. 

However. Lena hasn’t once popped in during the day. All communication with Winston back at the watchpoint is scheduled. 

As of this very moment, she’s watching an abandoned building that no one has come close to entering the entire time they’ve been watching it. 

And it’s not like she has a whole appendage to whip out. _If_ Lena comes out, _or_ if she receives a call, it would be easy to just pull her hand out of her pants. Sure, she’d be pissed off that someone interrupted those precious few minutes she has to herself, but she could pick back up once they’re done. 

Easy. 

Breathing out slowly, she drags a hand up her thigh, settling between her legs. She rubs gently with one finger in a slow, circular pattern, just to get things going. As she keeps her eyes on the building, she can’t help but smile at just how _simple_ it was to talk herself into this. She perks up at the sight of someone walking past the building, then glances at the feeds, and they continue on their way. A bystander; it's always a bystander. 

Licking her lips, she pushes down a little firmer, she spreads her legs further apart. It feels fucking amazing, despite doing it through her pants, the thrill adds to it all. Lena could walk in at any moment, Winston or Hana or anyone on base could call, a person of interest could appear now, of all times, and she’s doing _this_ , something so intimate and _distracting_.

She could get in _so much_ trouble if she misses something.

Biting her lip to keep from moaning, she moves her hand inside her pants and underwear. She’s so fucking wet, she feels the dampness on her knuckles against her underwear. She slides two fingers down to her entrance, but she doesn’t push in. Instead, she slowly drags them back up to her clit, she massages the hardened bud. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, head tipping back as pleasure shoots through her like lightning. She’s so _sensitive_ , she could come here and now if she was rougher, but she keeps this slow, relentless pace. As the concept of time starts to melt away, as she loses herself in this moment, as she feels that tightened coil sitting low in her core, ready to snap, her eyes slide closed. She rubs a little harder, a little faster, and her hips jerk. 

Then, her leg kicks out, hitting the wall in front of her. Hard. 

“Fuck!” She hisses through her teeth, keeping an ear out for Lena. She doesn’t pull her hand from her pants, not when she’s so _close_ to finishing, not when every single fibre of her being is _begging_ her to continue. As molten heat pools in her core, she can’t stop the urge from dipping her fingers inside herself. 

“Everything all right out there?”

Brigitte jumps in fright, she looks over her shoulder. She can’t see Lena, and her voice definitely carried from the opposite end of the apartment. Lena's sticking her head out of the door to her bedroom at the very least.

“Yup,” Brigitte replies, keeping her voice even and calm. “Just spilt tea all over myself and kicked the wall in panic.”

“Do you need a hand cleaning up?”

“No!” Brigitte bites her lip as pleasure crackles through her. She braces her feet flat against the wall to keep her traitorous legs from kicking wildly and outing her. “I’m fine. I’m barely wet.”

She has to bury her face in her shoulder and bite down on skin to keep from laughing.

“If you’re sure…”

“More than sure. Sorry for waking you.”

“Wasn’t asleep,” Lena replies. “Might try now, though.”

“Okay,” Brigitte breathes, her hips jerk off the chair again. Penetration isn’t her thing, she doesn’t feel anything from it, so _why_ is it suddenly fucking _amazing?_ “Sleep well.”

“Any change on the target?”

“Same as usual,” Brigitte replies, breathing out slowly. She slides a third finger inside herself and she feels herself tighten. God, she can only imagine the look of horror on Lena’s face if she were to walk in right now and see her like this.

“All right. Let me know if you see anything.”

“I will.” 

“‘Night.”

Silence fills the void, Brigitte hears Lena’s door close. Sighing in relief, she relaxes and stares at the open world. 

This is probably the most unprofessional thing she’s done, but fuck she didn’t realise just how much she _needed_ it. With her other hand, she unbuttons her pants, giving herself more room to work, before lifting her t-shirt, taking it between her teeth and cupping her breast. She slinks further down in her chair, enough that the building she _should_ be surveilling gives way to the blue sky. At the very least, if she turns her head she can see the security feeds which will alert her should a proximity sensor be tripped, so if anything happens, she’s got that as a backup. 

Sucking in a breath, her nerves skitter. She braces herself as she curls her fingers, gasping as she hits that sweet spot. Her eyes flutter closed, she presses on it relentlessly. She’s so close, so _close_ she can _feel_ the pressure build greater and greater. If she had more than her fingers she’d be able to go deeper, but she doesn’t _have_ anything but her bullet vibe back in her room. 

Maybe she’ll just buy a dildo when she gets back on base considering penetration feels fucking _amazing_ now.

Desperate for more, she pinches her nipple, then slides her hand down her body, pushing two more fingers inside herself. The stretch is _perfect_ but the depth isn’t, but that doesn’t matter, not when she pulls those two fingers back out and sweeps her fingers over her clit _fast_. 

She bites her lip as it all becomes too much, as her toes curl, as stars burst in her vision. Slowing to a gentle rub as she floats down from her high, she glances at the security feed and sees nothing out of the ordinary. 

Sitting back up, she looks out the window, and the building is the same as it has been the last five days. 

A smile spreads on her lips. She got away with it.

Pulling her hands from her pants, she stands on shaky knees and makes her way to the bathroom to wash her hands. Then she heads to the kitchen to make an actual cup of tea. She puts on music and takes that same seat by the window, and now, this task doesn’t seem as dreadful as it did earlier.


	5. Better with Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spiderbyte, exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation.
> 
> Inspired by [this tweet.](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie/status/1243827307292143617?s=20)

Amélie gasps, her head falls back onto the pillow. 

This wand vibrator she shelled out for was worth every penny. It claimed to have the strongest vibrations of any toy out on the market and it absolutely ticks that box. The trade-off is—not that she _really_ calls it a trade-off—is that it requires to be connected to mains power, so she has to stay within the confines of her apartment. As much as she’d love to have another earth-shattering orgasm with this wand in her hands in the meeting room, or on the roof, or in a park, it's just not feasible. She’ll just have to stick with bullet vibes for that kind of fun.

She can’t remember the last time she had solo fun in her bedroom. Months? A year, possibly more. She much prefers somewhere public, to chase that thrill of an act that, in this day and age, is still seen as taboo. But, despite being at home, it hasn’t stopped her from drawing the curtains to her balcony wide open, sitting on the edge of her bed with her legs spread wide for all the world to see. 

It isn’t as risqué as it sounds. Living in the penthouse of her apartment complex means her room sits higher than most other buildings. There is one, though, across the street that’s the same height, that she can see in. She hasn't met the man who lives there, all she knows is that he has quite an _appetite—_ he brings home a different man or woman or omnic every weekend. He is as much as an exhibitionist as she is, he doesn’t bother to pull down his blinds when he has company. 

While she doesn't watch him when he is with someone, she has seen him naked, and he’s seen her naked. It’s a mutual understanding, she supposes—they’re both adults who enjoy the simpleness of going about their day with no clothes on. He hasn’t approached her to expand on what they have and neither has she. Amélie likes the _arrangement_ they’ve found themselves in and would hate to ruin that with hooking up.

Besides, when the man is alone, he likes to drink wine out of a tumbler like an animal. She has _standards_. 

But still, she often imagines—like she’s imagining now—that he’s standing in his window and watching her. 

That he is jerking off while he watches.

It is a shame that he is at work. She’s lost count of what orgasm this is, and right now, sitting at the top of the highest endorphin rush she thinks she’s ever experienced, if he were to look through his window she sure as hell wouldn’t stop.

Her eyes slide closed, she bites her lip as the pressure starts to steadily build again. She presses down a little firmer, she increases the speed of the vibrations—

She feels a cold gust of air against her leg and it tears her out of the moment. 

She opens her eyes and there, standing right on her balcony with the doors swung wide open, is Sombra. 

Sombra, judging from the look of surprise on her face, was _not_ expecting this. 

Amélie stares into Sombra’s violet eyes and feels embarrassment creep over her. A part of her wants to close her legs, to bury her face in the pillow and never see the light of day ever again. It’s a conflicting emotion; she has thought about this exact scenario before—granted with the stranger from across the street, not the woman she is intimately familiar with. It makes _this_ all the more strange because she and Sombra _are_ sleeping together so this is _nothing_ new and yet, shame takes hold of her in a tight vice grip. 

Sombra’s surprise gives way to a devilish smirk. She closes the balcony doors behind her and leans against them. “I hope you don’t have plans to stop.”

It’s at that moment that Amélie realises that she has lifted the toy away from her. She blinks out of her daze and rests the wand against her clit, her hips jerking when it makes contact. 

She doesn’t take her eyes off Sombra and Sombra doesn’t take her eyes off her. After a moment, Sombra drinks her in, taking her bottom lip between her teeth as her gaze settles between Amélie's legs. In Sombra's hand is a box of chocolates, she places it on the vanity table and undresses, leaving her clothes where they fall and stalking forward, taking the wand in her hand. 

Amélie leans back on her elbows as Sombra settles between her legs. Resting her thighs on top of Sombra's, she bites her lip as Sombra leans forward to share the wand. She takes Sombra in, from her pierced nipples, the gorgeous, intricate floral tattoo under her breasts, the various skulls of human and animal alike across her torso and thighs. Sombra is always at her hottest like this—impulsive and _naked_. Goosebumps prick Sombra's skin, it is something Amélie _adores_ witnessing, a result of skin-to-skin contact. 

“What were you thinking about?” Sombra asks, voice breathy.

“The person in the apartment across the street watching me.”

Sombra smirks wickedly. “Kinky.”

Amélie merely hums. Her eyes drift to the balcony doors, then to the chocolates on the vanity. A gift, and if Amélie were to guess, something she would leave at the foot of her bed like the numerous other gifts Sombra has left previously. She always wondered how Sombra got in, she always thought Sombra came in through the front door, and when she asked _how_ Sombra got in, her response was always, ‘a hacker doesn’t reveal her secrets.'

A secret, it seems, that has just been revealed.

“So is that how you get in here?”

“You leave it unlocked.”

“It is risky throwing your translocator from the street. What if you miss?”

“Then I try again. But I _am_ getting better with my aim.”

Amélie smiles, she gasps when Sombra rolls her hips. Sombra looks like a delicious treat, from the soft moan that passes her lips to the way her body quivers. Amélie has seen that look on her dozens of times—Sombra is close.

Propping herself up on one arm, Amélie reaches out and cups Sombra’s breast. Sombra moans, loud and unabashed, her back arches under her touch. 

“I’ll never get used to that,” Sombra mutters, moving the wand from side to side minutely. 

Amélie’s hips lift off the bed. Sombra looks down at her with the most devilish smirk Amélie’s ever seen on her and increases the vibration to its maximum. 

Sombra positively _shouts_ , her free hand slaps over Amélie’s. Amélie squeezes Sombra’s breast, plays with her nipple as she reaches her climax, as Sombra’s eyes slide closed, as she mutters in hushed Spanish. 

Amélie falls back against the bed, her hips jerk, her thighs utterly _shake_. This orgasm is so intense, she doesn’t realise that Sombra has pulled the toy away until she feels the gentle press of Sombra’s warm lips against hers. With all the energy she feels that she can muster, Amélie reaches up and runs her fingers through Sombra’s hair. 

“That good?” Sombra murmurs. 

Amélie affectionately rolls her eyes, settling on the chocolates on the vanity. She sweeps Sombra’s hair behind her ear and smiles softly. “Chocolate and wine?”

Sombra huffs a laugh. “Chocolate and wine.”


	6. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mei watching her reflection, dildo

There was a certain kind of giddiness that Mei felt when she received a new toy in the mail. 

The box was inconspicuous. There was nothing on the label or shipping information that stated exactly  _ what _ she had in her hands. She had no shame in taking the box from Angela while she had a bite to eat, she had no shame in leaving the box sitting on the edge of the table while she engaged in idle chit chat. 

Everyone suspected it was a new piece of weather monitoring equipment. She’s ordered so many hygrometers and barometers and sensors over the months that everyone has since stopped asking what new arrival she has in her hands. It’s more her fault than theirs—she can’t help but go into great detail about the equipment and how it will better improve her research. It was a bombardment of information that often caused the person's eyes to glass over and quietly transition to another conversation topic.

She can’t help but get excited, but now, it’s something that has worked in her favour. These days, the only question she gets is if what is inside the box is a new toy to play with. And today, she told them that it is, that it will keep her busy for hours.

What they  _ didn’t  _ know was that, contained in that unassuming box, was a dildo. 

She didn’t rush back to her room for a play, even though she was  _ dying _ to look at it. She placed the box on her bed and continued working, analysing the data from Hurricane Emil which slammed the United States’ east coast. After, she agreed to look over some figures with Winston. 

Every now and then her mind wandered to the present waiting for her on her bed, and every time it sent a little shiver down her spine. 

Work, of course, took much longer than intended but it's finally done. Now well into the evening, with dinner eaten and a new collaborative project with Winston conceived, she  _ finally _ retreats to her room. Despite the giddiness, the excitement of taking a peek at her new toy, she still takes the time to have a shower, brush her teeth and moisturise every inch of skin.

The only thing she puts on is her purple silken robe, resting cool against her heated skin. She checks her comm for any messages, when her inbox flashes up empty she places it on silent and asks Athena to set up do not disturb protocols. She picks up her scarf from her table and places it over Snowball, in sleep mode while recharging. 

With a deep breath, she sits on the bed beside the box. Gingerly, she runs her fingers along the edges and peels back the tape. Underneath scrunched up paper is the toy, sitting inside a silken bag. She picks it up and it has some heft to it, she bites her lip as she opens the bag.

The dildo is more gorgeous in real life than in the pictures. It’s hand-poured and one-of-a-kind, shimmery pastel rainbow in colour which made it an instant purchase. It’s more  _ humanoid _ than the rest in her collection, but with the nubs on the head and the little horns on the base, it still fits in nicely. 

Dropping the empty box beside her table, she heads into the bathroom to give the toy a clean. She feels the first tendrils of heat pooling in her core as she wraps her hand around the thick shaft, then moves it lower as it narrows slightly. Anticipation all but eats away at her as she dries it with a clean towel, she can feel the wetness between her legs as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Stepping back into her room, she wheels over the free-standing mirror to her bed, then climbs on, standing on her knees in front of it. She brushes her fingers against her to start, first her clit then lower, spreading her wetness. Watching her reflection, she massages the toy against her clit. She’s slow to start, getting a feel for it, but soon enough, she rolls her hips, exploring the nubs on the head as they rub against her in the most delicious of ways. 

She sweeps the toy over her entrance, her hips buck in response to it. She doesn’t push it in, not yet; she explores every bump, every ridge, every vein, every horn, spreading her slick all over it. Every single texture leaves her gasping. 

Unable to take this teasing any longer, she slows, resting the base against the bed. With her eyes settled firmly on where the toy sits just touching her entrance, she sinks down slowly. Her eyes grow heavy-lidded, she doesn’t stop until she’s taken it all the way to the base where those horns sit flush against her skin. What it lacks in length it makes up for in girth, the stretch is  _ exactly  _ what she was after.

Slowly, she lifts off it, and sinks back down just as slowly, watching it appear then disappear inside her. She fixates on how she opens so willingly for it at its thickest part, and just how  _ fantastic _ it feels inside of her, how full it makes her feel as it pushes against her walls.

With each passing moment, with each thrust, she can feel the pressure build. Her eyes trail up her body, and she pulls back the robe, revealing her breasts. She cups them, kneads them, plays with her nipples, each squeeze and tug sending white-hot pleasure coursing through her. 

Her hips buck, she moans. Sucking in a breath, she picks up her speed. It all becomes too much—watching as she plays with her tits, as she rides the toy. With a moan her hips jerk, she tightens around the dildo as a drip of creamy white runs down the length of the shaft. 

She doesn’t stop though, she doesn’t nearly feel satisfied. This time, she plays with her clit, massaging it with her finger, coming off the toy to feel the bumps on the head before riding it again, straight into her next orgasm. 

Sighing contentedly, and with the toy still between her legs, she lies on her back. She can't help but play with it a little more, rubbing it against her clit gently as she comes down from her high. Her toes are still curled and she can’t help but smile; this toy might have set her back a few hundred credits, but it was  _ well _ worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the toy in question](https://strange-bedfellas.myshopify.com/products/noble-batou-medium-silicone-b-497?variant=32313816711264). I only chose this one because [@miadarkarcher](https://twitter.com/miadarkarcher) frequently rts their products and they pretty.
> 
> And as the month of maysturbation closes, I do hope you have enjoyed going on this journey with me! 
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) and [PillowFort!](https://www.pillowfort.social/ChillieBean) Come say hi!


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